"Chase!—Chase!"
And then, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, he made a despairing gesture and hurried away—not in search of an abri, however, but toward the scene of destruction ahead. He felt shocked, depressed and disheartened.
But, all at once, he recalled the words of Doctor Savoye—"Tres pressé." His paramount duty was to take the car to the outpost, if such a thing was possible. He must get there. He would get there. And with this thought, which for the time being drove all doubts, perplexities and worries from his mind, he broke into a run.
Then, very soon, he began hearing voices and footsteps—the drivers of the convoys were returning.
Presently the aviator's son almost stumbled over the prostrate form of a horse. Its body quivered; its iron-shod hoofs flew in all directions. Recovering his balance, the boy, with a startled gasp, leaped aside and continued on, in another moment finding himself close upon a scene of extraordinary confusion. A flash of lightning revealed wagons wrecked and débris strewn along the road. A number of horses were lying about, those which still remained alive, as a result of their furious struggles, having become completely entangled in the harness. Several on their feet immediately started to rear and plunge anew as the men arrived among them.
"Great Julius Cæsar! This is another dangerous game," murmured the aviator's son.
The wild and fear-stricken animals had to be set free, and unless extraordinary care and precautions were used they might stampede along that narrow passageway and perhaps cause either serious injury or death.
The adventurous Don Hale had no intention of standing idly by. He watched his chance, and, taking advantage of a succession of brilliant flashes of lightning, groped his way cautiously past several of the prostrate horses—a very dangerous proceeding. Hoofs were continually on the move and every now and again one or another of the animals managed to struggle to its knees, remain in that awkward position for an instant or two, and then fall back with a dull and heavy thud.
It was a strange, awe-inspiring situation for a boy to be placed in—close to the battle-front, with the storm-clouds overhead, in the midst of wreckage and frantic horses, and facing the possibility of a tragic end. Yet, though all these things were vaguely impressed on Don Hale's mind, his thoughts were not upon them. The words "Tres pressé—tres pressé" continually sounded in his ears.
He advanced boldly, right into the midst of the prancing, pawing animals. Hoofs were thudding down hard all about him; streams of liquid mud often splashed against his figure. The movements of the ponderous bodies made Don forcibly realize that one false step, one moment's lack of thought, might cause the most disastrous results. Again the lightning proved a friendly aid. A horse stood directly in front of him. Its mate lay stretched in the mud. Originally the team had been one of eight horses, but how many were still on their feet Don could not tell. He did know, however, that the drivers, in the darkness, in the slippery road, were having a mighty hard time to control the fractious beasts.